


Not the time (to speak of love)

by missdarcys



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, Political Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdarcys/pseuds/missdarcys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver screwed up, again, and it's impacting the public image of the infamous politics dynasty. Tired of his only son's regular antics, Senator Robert Queen decides that drastic measures must be taken. And what better way to salvage Oliver's future career as an esteemed politician than getting him settled?</p><p>Or, the political marriage AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ten thousand thanks to my wonderful betas and everyone else that has been amazingly supportive about this. Hope you enjoy!

**May 2006.**

“Rumors of notorious heir Oliver Queen fathering a child out of wedlock are seriously impacting the public’s opinion of the already scandalous political family. Inside sources at the Queen mansion hint that the Queen heir had no intention of providing for the future baby. No official declarations have been made by the family as of now,” states the journalist in an even tone, while various pictures and footage of Oliver flood the screen.

Robert Queen turns off the TV, and Oliver knows he’s in trouble.

If he had to rate the trouble he’s probably in, he’d say somewhere between that time he and Tommy thought it’d be funny to empty Oliver’s fridge in an epic battle all around the mansion, and when his convertible ended up wrapped around a tree at five in the morning with an unconscious random girl in the passenger seat.

His life for the past six months has been pretty good. He toured European nightclubs with Tommy, and then came back home around Christmas and… did about the same thing back home, in Starling. Alone. Because Tommy bailed on him and decided to try to be a ‘responsible adult for once’ for Laurel. Whatever the fuck that meant.

And then for a couple of weeks he’d been seeing this girl – what was her name again? Linda or Sandra or something. But then she became clingy, and he moved on. Because if there is a thing Oliver Queen doesn’t do, it’s committed relationships. Granted, he’d tried, once. With Laurel. And then he broke her heart. Because that’s the kind of person he is.

But, back to the problem at hand. Robert is eyeing him expectedly with his patented ‘disapproving father’ face. As if he hadn’t screwed the entirety of his female staff already. His mother, on the other hand, is standing a few feet behind Robert, eyes worriedly going back and forth between her husband and her son as if it was a tennis match and not a family meeting. Oliver looks back at his father with deliberate slowness, and that apparently turns out to be the proverbial drop of water.

“So? What do you have to say to that?” Robert snaps. (Or really, composedly enunciates, but Oliver has been around his father long enough to know when he was pissed. And he truly is, behind that permanent veneer of apparent calm politics brought him.)

“What do you expect me to say? It’s been handled. Crisis averted. Just do a press conference or issue a statement or whatever it is you do, and it’ll blow off. We both know everyone will forget about it with the upcoming elections.” Oliver offers in response, his arm nonchalantly propped on the back of the couch.

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Moira looks up at the ceiling, as if praying God would give her the strength to deal with her only son. But it’s his father’s reaction that makes his heart drop. Robert just stares at him with a piercing glare, as if Oliver was his adversary in a debate and Robert was trying to size him up. Assessing him. Establishing what he was capable of. Judging the danger potential.

It’s the first time Oliver stands on the receiving end of his dad’s threat-reviewing stare, and that’s what makes him straighten up, about to defend himself. He was in far deeper than he’d originally thought. Just as he opens his mouth, Robert cuts him off and turns towards his wife.

“We’ve let this charade run on long enough. You told me you could handle him, and I have given you time to do so. But you have evidently been unsuccessful. It’s enough. It has to stop.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

“You know as well as I do that he has no chance of becoming the second-youngest governor of California if he keeps behaving like this ridiculous Don Juan,” his dad continues, unperturbed by the interruption.

“Robert, you cannot be serious.” Moira’s voice echoes in the living-room for the first time since his parents came barreling in.

“It’s the only solution. We agreed on that.”

“It was _months_ ago! Give him more time, I’m sure-”

“What? That he’ll suddenly sober up and become a respectable young man? Moira, he has dropped out of three Ivy League universities in the past two years. It’s decided. We will do as planned.”

“Robert-”

“I said it was decided.”

Robert’s tone is still as calm as before, but the ice in it could freeze all of California in the middle of summer. Moira looks defeated. This can’t be good for Oliver’s ass.

His dear father then decides to suddenly acknowledge his presence in the room again, and Oliver redirects all the pity he had for his mother towards himself in the blink of an eye.

“You’re coming to my office tomorrow at nine sharp. I trust you not to be late for once.” He then turns towards Moira and adds, “I’ll go make the necessary arrangements. I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

A second later, Robert Queen has exited the living-room, his phone already tapped to his ear. The silence that falls on the room is far from comfortable, and Oliver glances at his mom, his mouth open.

“Mom! What’s going on?”

Her eyes leave the doorway in which her husband just left, and when they settle on him, Oliver can read weariness and lassitude in them.

“We are going to get you married.”

“Married? What do you mean, married? I don’t even have a girlfriend? How can I get married if I don’t have anybody to marry?” Oliver pleads after the minute it took him to digest the abrupt news.

Sensing his near-breakdown, Moira comes to sit next to him, placing her hand on his back and rubbing it in a soothing gesture.

“We need to bury that playboy image the media are giving you before you start going into politics. And getting you settled is the most efficient way to do so,” she explains, her tone even and calming.

“But what-”

And that’s when it dawns on him. Oh, they’re gonna marry him off alright, only just not to someone he loves. No, his dear parents are going to stage a-

“Political marriage.”

He had been right. He _really_ is in trouble.

___

He calls Tommy on his way to the garage and is mildly surprised he answers on the first ring (or answers at all, really. They don’t call, they just crash wherever the other is, no questions asked. Or at least, used to. Oliver doesn’t really feel like walking on Tommy and Laurel, if he can help it. Ever.).

“Hey Oliver buddy listen-” he hears his best friend say, in his usual cheerful voice. He can tell what Tommy was going to say, so he cuts him.

“My parents are marrying me off.”

“-it’s probably not a- woah hold up, _what_?”

“My parents are going to marry me off,” Oliver repeats more slowly, as he reaches to fish his car keys out of his back pocket.

Tommy pauses for a second, before Oliver hears him shuffling on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll gather the booze. See you in fifteen,” Tommy says before hanging up, as Oliver lowers himself into the charcoal Porsche he got for his eighteenth birthday.

The drive to the Merlyns’ house passes in a blur. Oliver is pretty sure he must have driven through at least four red lights, but he can’t be bothered to care. It’s a semi-regular occurrence for his dad to get him out of paying fines (not to mention various other arrests), because that’s bad for the _public image of this family_. Oh, how many times has Robert uttered those words to him, as if the _public image_ was all that mattered.

The public image means _nothing_.

If only his dad could see that.

After pulling up in Tommy’s driveway, Oliver gets out of the car and into the house in a haze. As he expected, his best friend is sitting in his father’s study, back to the wall, blinds closed and half a dozen bottles of varying substances lying around him like sentinels. Upon seeing Oliver’s arrival, Tommy raises the closest bottle (tequila, from what Oliver can see in the semi-darkness) and takes a sip. Wordlessly, Oliver flops down on his left, and grabs a random bottle. They drink in silence for a few minutes that feel like centuries, before Tommy breaks it.

“Laurel doesn’t want me to meet her family.”

Oliver casts him a sideways glance.

“What d’you mean, we used to spend entire afternoons at her place? Sara even babysits Thea from time to time.”

“No,” Tommy all but drawls before raising the half empty bottle to his lips again. “I mean, some second cousin of hers or something is getting married, and _she doesn’t want me to meet her family_. As in, the entire family. She doesn’t want me there.”

“Oh,” is all Oliver can reply, because what is he supposed to say, really? ‘Sorry your girlfriend has commitment issues from the time I kept cheating on her when we were together’? Yeah, not gonna do.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, your dad isn’t forcing you to marry some stranger for God knows how long to salvage your public image.” is what Oliver settles for, before letting the vodka burn down his throat once more.

Tommy chuckles, and Oliver wants to smack him over the head with his bottle. The situation is so far from funny, Oliver wishes he could replace all the water in his body by alcohol and forget about everything, if only for a while. But his father is awaiting him at nine in his office and God knows what he’d do if Oliver showed up with a hangover from hell. Cut him off, probably.

“Well, at least make sure she’s hot.” Tommy replies before winking at him, and Oliver can’t help but smile.

Maybe it won’t be so terrible in the end.


	2. You appear to face a decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I still don’t have to vote Republican, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say that HOLY CRAP, the response for this prologue has been overwhelmingly amazing! I have no words. Thank you, so much.
> 
> As usual, tremendous thanks to my two wonderful betas. This would be a lot less fun without you.
> 
> Happy reading, everybody!

It’s not even midday and yet the PR office of Senator Queen is buzzing with agitation. The air smells of freshly brewed coffee and hastily made phone calls, as young intern Amy Peterson carefully makes her way in between desks stacked with folders and energized colleagues murdering their keyboards with practiced tenacity. With five Styrofoam cups precariously balanced on top of two (or ten) files, she manages to reach the back of the room where the director of PR, Natalia Reyes, is hosting a small meeting.

“So, in summary, we have nobody?”

“No. The four candidates we’ve interviewed this morning won’t do. We’re running out of time. The deadline is tonight. Thanks,” the coordinator adds after Amy finished handing everyone their coffees. That’s enough to spike her curiosity.

“You’re talking about the special assignment the Senator gave yesterday, right? How come the candidates didn’t work out?”

Natalia eyes her curiously, as if pondering whether or not to answer, before finally making up her mind.

“Yes, we are. And as a reply to your second question, we have our reasons as to why.”

Her boss is giving her way more information than her lowly intern status warrants, and she feels like she is walking a very thin line, but she just _has_ to ask.

“What _exactly_ are you looking for in the future Mrs Queen?”

Before Natalia can respond, however, the petite my-hair-is-straight-out-of-a-shampoo-commercial social media specialist she’s seen around a couple of times is cutting in and proclaiming in her nicest tone,

“Courteous, well-read, with a clear police record and no dirt in the closet, studying for an advanced college degree, fluent in another language than English, of course, a warm personality that the public can relate to – it’s even better if she’s middle class, since the Queens are seen as snobby and removed from the lower classes’ struggle –, attractive, and it’s even better if she’s up-to-date on current affairs.”

“I’m not sure about that last one, but… I might just have the girl for you.”

All five pairs of eyes turns towards her in perfect synchronization, and given the hint of a smile on Natalia’s face (if her people-reading skills aren’t totally sucky), this internship could turn out to be the best career move she ever made.

___

It takes Oliver Queen two seconds and him looking at her up and down like she's some toy in a store that he's going to purchase - which he is in way - and she realizes just now how weird that sounded but hey that's her mind so who cares - for him to say, looking sideways at his mother with an air reminiscent of a child,

“Can't we find somebody else?”

She _tries_ not to feel insulted, she really does, but if the wave of rage she feels swooping through her entire being is any indication, she's not really succeeding. She can hear the implications of his sentence as if he uttered them himself. _Can't we get someone hotter? Can't we get someone more worthy of me? Can't we get someone_ better _?_

She's been put down her entire life by his kind of people, the kind who fancy themselves superior to her just because they have a dick, or because they're older, or because they think they're smarter (hint: _they're not_ ). She's swallowed and let the remarks fly by, because that's the kind of person she is. But she's sure as hell not gonna let herself be that insulted by that trust-fund jerk who is wearing a ridiculous tiny scarf. (What is he, a _dog_?)

“Not to impose, or anything, but I'm your best shot. More accurately, your only shot. And I'll have you know that my academic record is almost certainly better than anybody else in this room, and so is my IQ. I may be blonde, but I'm not _that_ blonde. So if you could just swallow your misogyny for a second, I'd be really grateful.” she finishes, slightly flustered once it registers that she just said all of that in front of Moira Queen and her stupid son.

But the woman just studies her with a calculating face and she swears she can see a hint of approval in her eyes. At least, she hopes that's what it is. She's cut from her thoughts when Mrs Queen demands a second alone, never taking her eyes off Felicity (which is slightly freaking her out, to be honest.) A couple of seconds later, Felicity hasn't moved an inch and Moira is standing in front of the large window, looking out at the city like she owns it. From what Felicity knows of that family, she probably does. The silence stretches for an almost uncomfortable moment, before the other woman starts talking.

“Did you know that I was salutatorian of my class at Harvard? I was someone back then, a person in my own right, and I had a horizon of possibilities opened to me. People always said that ‘I would go places.’ which always struck me as an odd saying, weirdly enough. But I felt proud of my accomplishments, and felt like I could do anything I wanted to. And then, I married Robert. Now, my days consist of organizing brunches and galas, donating money to charity and looking good next to my husband, as if I am an added value.” she adds, turning around to face Felicity. “When he was first elected governor, I remember the articles would say variations of ‘Robert Queen, rising star of the Republican party and husband of Moira Dearden, summa cum laude graduate of Harvard university.’”

Moira smiles, but it's rather morose.

“You must wonder why I am telling you all this. It's because I can see myself in you, Felicity, and I want to make sure you know what you're in for. Your life will not be your own anymore. Your existence will just be a means to an end. I would truly comprehend that you wish to withdraw now, and I will give you a minute for you to come to a decision. Just be aware that whatever it is you choose, it is final.”

To say that Felicity hadn't expected that would be a lie as big as this building. But oddly enough, she finds that it doesn't change anything in the slightest, aside from the sympathy she now feels towards the older woman.

If there's one thing to be said about Felicity, it's that once she's in, she's _in_. And if she's honest with herself, she's been in this since the moment she boarded on that plane what feels like _ages_ ago, after getting an unexpected but not unwelcome phone call from her former babysitter Amy.

Mrs Queen had already taken two steps towards the door when Felicity breaks out of the stupor she was in and lets out a ‘Wait!’ that’s a bit too forceful.

As Moira turns around, she can see the steely resolve in the young girl's eyes. It makes her look so much older than seventeen, and she feels sorry that she's had to go through so much hardship in that short amount of time, hardship that forced her to grow up well before it was time. If she's being honest with herself, this girl is more mature than her own Oliver, who's well past eighteen and nearly got a girl pregnant a week ago.

She used to believe that Oliver would grow up after a while, grow _out_ of this constant pleasure seeking that has been his life since he was old enough to sneak into nightclubs, but a while turned into years and he's still the same reckless boy. And seeing this child standing in front of her gives her hope that maybe someone else could have a positive impact on her only son's life. It still stings that her own flesh doesn’t seem to notice that she only want what’s best for him, but at this point, she just wants him to mature, no matter the cost. Hence why she agreed to Robert’s plan. They’ve run out of options.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Felicity starts, her fingers playing with the hem of her cardigan, “I'm not doing this for you, for your family, or for your son. I'm doing this for me. And nothing you can say or do will weaken my resolve. Unless, of course, you decide to break your part of the agreement, even though I'm certain you won't. You need me too much for that.”

This time, the older woman truly smiles, and declares:

“Welcome to the family, Felicity.”

The smile she gets in return is brilliant, and Moira Queen finds herself happy that her husband’s PR office found this particular girl. Just as she’s about to exit the office, however, she hears Felicity blurting out, a hint of nervousness in her tone,

“I still don’t have to vote Republican, right?”

___

Oliver is bored. He has been up since eight, slightly hungover (nothing he can’t manage), and there should definitely be a law against waking up that early. After a joyful conversation in his dad’s office in which Robert made it really clear that from now on Oliver would do as he said if he wanted to keep his trust fund, Oliver went back to the mansion with the firm intention to spend the rest of the day with a pillow over his head. But _then_ , his mom came into his room saying that they had found a girl and she would be in the PR office by four, so he should get ready. Just as a matter of principle, he already disliked his father and that girl for screwing up his afternoon plans. He and Tommy were supposed to hit the Starling City club scene that night, and how is he expected to make it past three with that little sleep in his system? Figures.

So now, it’s five, and he’s sitting in some random office at his dad’s PR HQ. Not exactly his definition of fun.

Thinking of the past half an hour, he feels slightly ashamed at his behavior. Okay, fine, his comment was _slightly_ douchey, even for him, but it had just escaped him. Who can blame him though? This girl is his total antithesis, from her low curly ponytail to her girly flowery dress. She’s the opposite of the girls he usually goes for, and don’t even get him started on the _glasses_. He suddenly hears Tommy’s comment from yesterday in his head. _Well, at least make sure she’s hot._ It’s not that she’s ugly, or anything (thank God for that). She’s _cute_ , and in Oliver’s book, that means about nothing. He doesn’t do cute.

But from the looks of it, he’s gonna be stuck with her for the foreseeable future (he really doesn’t want to be poor) so he decides to go talk to her as soon as the private meeting between his mother and the girl is over.

Just as he’s about to load some random game on his phone to pass the time, he hears the office door open and people get in. Turning around, he sees his dad’s PR guru enter, followed closely by her intern with the ever-present notepad, his mother and the girl. She’s making this weird face, lips pursed as if she’s trying not to smile, and has slight blush on her cheeks. He studies her for a second, as she’s looking everywhere but at him. _Interesting_.

He’s jostled out of his thoughts by his mother calling his name.

“Mmh?” he says, as his eyes go back up to Moira.

“I need to discuss some details with Ms Reyes here, so that should give you and Felicity some time to talk before we sign the papers.” _Perfect_. “Amy here will escort you to another office. We should be done in a quarter of an hour. Is that alright with you, Felicity?” Moira adds, turning towards her. Felicity nods, and exchanges a couple of words with the intern as they are lead into an adjacent room. Do they know each other or something?

Finally, the intern leaves, closing the door behind her, and they’re alone. Yet she’s still not looking at him.

Time to turn the charm on, as Laurel liked to say.

“Hey – it’s Felicity, right?” he starts, with a dazzling smile, not leaving her time to reply before continuing. “Sorry about earlier. Let’s just start again. Hi, I’m Oliver Queen,” he suggests in his most charming voice, hand outstretched.

He’s invaded her personal space, and is pleased to see that her cheeks have become even more pinkish than earlier. But where he expected her to respond positively, she just lets out a sigh, takes a step forward so that there is barely an inch between them before sidestepping Oliver and leaning on the desk behind him. Slightly startled, he turns around, and she stares at him in the eye.

“Listen, you can quit the whole flirty having-my-attention-is-a-gift thing you have going on, ‘cause it’s not going to work. But we’re virtually stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. We’re in this together. You know, like the song?” Oliver furrows his brow, as she adds, in a sing-song voice, “ _We’re All In This Together_?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Right. Cause you probably don’t watch Disney Channel. Like, ever. And I did _not_ just reference _High School Musical_ to Oliver Queen.” She closes her eyes as he faintly hears her count down from three. She takes a deep breath before raising her head again. “What I meant to say is, this is going to be easier for the both of us if we help each other out. So, partners?” she finishes, head cocked to the side, holding out her hand to him, mirroring his action from earlier.

Oliver’s always been taught to evaluate who holds the power in a room, and right now, he knows that this tiny blonde girl has shifted the odds. He can’t help but give her a look he realizes a second later is his father’s infamous assessing glance. Oliver lets out a small smile, a real one he can’t seem to stifle, and shakes her hand.

As Felicity smiles back, Oliver has to admit he’s a tiny bit curious to see how this whole mess is going to play out. And even if it’s a disaster, he’s just going to sit back and enjoy the show. He just finds himself wishing this girl won’t find herself in the crossfire. If there’s a thing his twenty years of existence on this planet taught him, it’s that Queen family dealings can get _really_ messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it was. I hope you liked it!
> 
> If you caught the Lizzie Bennet Diaries reference I snuck in there, here is a high five! If you didn't, credit for a good part of the attributes of the future Mrs Queen goes to the brilliant Rachel Kiley.
> 
> One last thing, in case you don't follow me on Tumblr (I'm wittyfelicity over there), I have to let you know that I'm currently in a double degree cursus, which is extremely demanding. Meaning, during the week, I don't have time to write, at all. I can't promise you any frequency in my update schedule, but I intend not to leave you hanging for too long.
> 
> Oh, and if you were wondering: you WILL find out more about Felicity's reasoning in the next chapter, don't worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of things concerning this AU: 1. Sandra actually lost the baby, 2. Queen Consolidated doesn't exist but Merlyn Global Group does, and 3. character ages and birthdays are same as in canon.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this prologue and I'll probably post the second chapter tomorrow. English isn't my native language and if mistakes managed to sneak through betaing, just let me know?
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and just know that I'm usually going to be writing three chapters ahead of what I'm posting. So stuff that doesn't make sense in a chapter will most likely be explained later on. If not, I'll add it in the notes!
> 
> Anyways, I dearly wish you appreciated this and am looking forward to posting the rest!


End file.
